


God Ships Destiel

by mtothedestiel



Series: God Ships Destiel 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Handcuffs, Humor, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God ships destiel, and while he's not willing to mess with free will, that doesn't mean he won't hit below the belt. Enter Gabriel and some archangel related hi-jinks, all in the name of true love and destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born of my love for Chuck and Gabriel. Just a prologue for now, but more to come!

Hey guys, God here.  That’s right.  God.  Jehovah.  The Big Man Upstairs.  The Great I Am.  Or as you’ve more recently gotten to know me, Chuck.  Yeah that was me.  Didn’t you hear my cosmic monologue at the end of Swan Song?  No?  …I was proud of that one.  I thought the imagery was…well, never mind.  Anyways, I know it seems like I haven’t really been around that much, but really I’m doing my best.  You guys forget that I can’t just be changing every little thing!  I’ve gotta think about character development, and narrative arcs, and …free will!  It’s a stressful existence, but somebody’s gotta keep this mudball spinning.  So I stay behind the scenes most of the time, nudging here and there.  But not anymore!  I have finally found something worth some serious divine intervention.  Destiel.

That’s right.  If there is one thing in this crazy Universe that has my divine blessing it is Dean/Castiel.  I mean, come on!  Castiel pulls Dean out of Hell, falls from Heaven to protect him, and gets blown up, _twice_ , and still he’s hanging around, giving those intense, longing glances that just make me want to go cry a river of tears. That's not even _touching_ the year they spent in Purgatory.  And when Cas beat the crap out of him in that alley, being all dominant?  Dean liked it.  You know it, I know it, his brother knows it.  It was one of the hottest moments of at least the last six millennia.  And I would know.

Unfortunately, free will being what it is, I can’t just snap my fingers make those two star crossed morons admit their mushy feelings and get on with the makey outey.  I have regrettably been forced to employ more nefarious means.  I mean it guys, no more Mr. Nice God.   I am really pulling out the big guns.  One gun, to be exact.  One fully loaded, recently resurrected, deviously minded gun.  That’s right folks, get ready for everybody’s favorite archangel. 

Destiel will be canon.  My will be done.

 

_Hello, ladies and gentlemen!  In case any of you haven’t been clued in, this is Gabriel speaking.  Yes, it’s me.  Did you miss me?  Did you all shed many tears at my tragic demise?  I’ll assume yes.  Despite my heroic final ending it would seem the bossman has a greater plan for me, so here I am, alive and kicking, and He’s only asking one favor in return.  Now I’ve spent the last few millennia picking a few choice words for dear old Dad, but how could I turn down one last go at Dean Winchester? For the sake of true love, my baby brother’s happiness, and good, old fashioned mischief, I have magnanimously decided to set aside my Daddy issues.  Watch out Winchesters.  To quote another famous pair of brothers: I’m on a mission from God._


	2. Can't get you out of my head

_Let’s get the ball rolling with a little act I like to call “Shock and Awkward”._

“Excuse me?”  The leggy blonde who had been all over Dean about five seconds ago now had him at a firm arm’s length.  What did I do? he thought, reeling back the conversation. 

“What did you just call me?”  What _did_ he just call her?  _Alright Dean, what do you say we get out of here?  Sure thing Cas, just let me-_ Oh.  Shit.  Play it cool Winchester. 

“Jesus, I’m such a dick,” Dean groaned, “It’s just, we just met, and I forgot your name but I thought maybe I could guess-“

“Please,” the blonde, _Angela_ ,her name was Angela, “You think haven’t heard you calling that guy in the trenchcoat ‘Cas’ all night, laughing in your little corner booth?  I may be blonde but I’m not dumb.”

“What? No! Me and Cas? We’re not-I’m not-“ Dean could feel his face growing red under the woman’s glare as he babbled.  From the booth in the corner he could see Sam looking at him with concern, while Castiel innocently sipped on a beer.

“Whatever asshole.  If you bat for both teams that’s fine, but if you think you can use me to make this ‘Cas’ guy jealous or something you’ve got another thing coming.  I’m out of here.”  And with that, Angela plucked her sparkly purse off the back of her stool and left Dean standing at the bar with a standing tab and a slack jaw.  What in the hell just happened?

“What the hell just happened?” Sam unknowingly echoed as Dean returned to his seat in the booth.  Dean shrugged, hoping it seemed casual enough. 

“Didn’t take,” Dean muttered, stealing some of Sam’s fries. 

“I’ll say,” Sam agreed, slapping Dean’s hand away from his plate, “She looked kind of pissed.”

“Just a misunderstanding I’m sure,” Dean said, taking some of Cas’ fries instead.  The angel looked at him with compassion.

“I am sorry you were unsuccessful in your attempts to mate,” Cas said, face genuine, “She was, objectively, quite attractive.” 

“You always know just how to make a guy feel better Cas,” Dean said sarcastically.  Castiel looked at him with some uncertainty before smiling and taking another swig of his drink, apparently content with his consoling skills regardless of Dean’s opinion.

“I don’t know Dean, she didn’t really seem like your type,” Sam observed. 

“I guess not.  Killer eyes though,” Dean had to admit, “Dark blue, just like Cas-“ His brain managed to shut his mouth before he could finish that sentence, but not in time to stop Sam’s eyebrows from threatening to disappear into his hairline.  Cas was staring at him intently, though whether it was because of Dean’s accidental comment or because staring at Dean was just the norm for the weird angel he couldn’t be sure.  For the second time that night Dean could feel a blush creeping up his neck as he shimmied out of the booth.  What in the hell was wrong with him tonight?

“I could use another beer.  Sam?”  Sam shook his head.

“I’m good Dean.  Are you?” Sam was giving him the ‘do we need to talk about our feelings?’ face, to which Dean responded with an assertive ‘hell no bitch’ glare.

“Fine Sammy,” Dean said, turning to the angel, “Cas? Need anything?”

“I am quite content Dean.  Thank you.”  Cas took another sip of his beer, licking his lips to catch rebellious drop before it could make its way down to the hard line of his stubbled jaw and… Dean shook his head rapidly, making his way back to the bar.  He _really_ needed another drink.

Dean had just ordered another beer when he felt a feminine hand brush his forearm.

“Hey handsome, you want to buy me a drink?”  The voice was husky velvet, and Dean felt his wolf smile creeping back onto his face.  Maybe his luck could still change tonight after all.

“I can’t imagine I wouldn’t, with a voice like that,” Dean rumbled, and the hand on his arm flexed encouragingly, “You wanna tell me-“ _Jesus Christ._   When he turned to get a look at the mystery woman, instead of long hair and smoky eyes he saw a military cut and bright piercing blue.  Where he was expecting curves and a slinky dress he was met with a strong jaw and a ratty trench coat.  Before he jerked away he felt the hand on his arm suddenly become rough and calloused.  “Cas?”  Dean rubbed his eyes furiously before looking back to the booth, where the angel was sitting just as before, obliviously talking with Sam, who was studying Dean with narrowed eyes.  Dean hesitantly looked back to the seat next to him to find it was now filled with a dark haired, smoky eyed, seriously pissed off woman.

“What did you just call me?” Not again…

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized quickly, laughing only a little hysterically, “I think I’ve had one too many.  Excuse me.”  He tried not to knock over any barstools on his way back to the booth.  First the Freudian slips and now this?

“Looks like you’re having a rough night,” Sam commented as Dean grabbed his jacket from the seat, shrugging into the comforting leather.

“Yeah, seems to be some bad mojo in the air tonight,” Dean said, “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“You ok to drive?” Sam asked.

“Yeah I only had the one beer,” Dean assured him, “I think I’ll head back to HQ, maybe do some reading.”

“I will return with you,” Cas volunteered, eyes lighting up.

“No! Uh...I mean, no Cas, you should finish your drink,” Dean said quickly, “Besides, I don’t trust Sammy here not to get jumped if he tries to walk home alone, so I need you to stay and back him up.”

Dean tried to ignore Sam’s glare as Cas nodded with a solemn “Of course.”  He’d make it up to Sam, but Dean needed out of this bar _right now._   He made his way to the exit, doing his best to ignore the bachelorette party on his right who suddenly all had raven wing hair and indigo blue eyes, and the bartender, whose voice was all of a sudden calling out orders in an all too familiar gravel.  There was something weird going on with him tonight, and the first cure he was going to try was a shot of whiskey and a full night of sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, this section is a little short, but there's more in the works! I'm basically trying to write my dream episode of Supernatural, so to the best of my ability I'm gonna stick to the language rating etc. of the show. Many thanks!


	3. Stuck on You

_Now it’s time to slow things down with one of my personal favorites._

“I believe we may be dealing with a cursed object,” Cas observed stoically. 

“Ya think Cas?” Dean drawled, barely audible over the clang of the hammer that Sam was currently wailing against the thin length of chain connecting the two cuffs around their wrists.  Handcuffs.  God, the Universe had a sick sense of humor lately.  They hadn’t even been on a hunt.  They had been, it kills Dean to admit it, _garage sale-ing._ Dean watched Sam trade in his hammer for a large pair of pliers as he relived the minutes leading up to his surprise-indestructible-friendship-bracelet-ceremony with one Angel of the Lord. 

It was all Cas’ fault.  The dumb angel had been happy to sit in the empty room Dean and Sam had offered him, the beige walls bare and cold, even compared to the barely there decorating Dean had attempted in his own room.  It wasn’t right, Dean had told him, and so they had bundled off to some little cul-de-sac Dean had passed on his way back from a beer run, chock full of those tacky “yard sale!” banners that you bought at the hardware store.  Dean had given Cas forty bucks they started looking for anything that might make the angel’s room more like home.  Castiel seemed unclear as to the real purpose of the exercise, but he eventually chose a few knick knacks that struck his fancy, including a set of Chinese lucky cats and a colorful afghan that he insisted had been “made with love”.  They had been on their way out of the last house when Dean had spotted a vintage Metallica logo poking out of a large box and stopped to rummage through.  To his dismay, instead of classic rock merchandise, he found himself locked into one half of a pair of handcuffs, though how they had managed to get around his wrist and actually close by pure chance was beyond him.  Things went from bad to worse when Cas had tried to assist him in removing the cuff, only hear the tell-tale snap of the link as the other half closed around the angel’s left wrist.  A thorough search of the remaining contents of the box had, of course, revealed no key.  When Dean’s lock pick kit had failed to bust them out, his hunter’s instinct kicked in, and Cas had poofed them and the Impala back to headquarters for backup.  Two hours and one very sweaty Winchester brother later, they were no closer to removing the handcuffs, by earthly or heavenly means.  

“Alright, I give up,” Sam admitted, throwing the pliers back in the tool box, “These aren’t coming off via any of our usual tricks.”

Dean growled in frustration, getting an unexpected slap in the face as he went to run a hand through his hair and dragging Cas’ hand right along with, which only caused him to swear even louder.  Castiel looked on impassively as his wrist was jerked around like a marionette.  Sam needed to take control of this situation before Dean did any serious damage to himself or Cas.  Luckily, little bro knew when to step in.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Sam said, replacing the lid on the old chest of tools they had found, “I’m going to head back to that garage sale where you two found the cuffs, assuming you wrote down the address.”

“Please Sammy,” Dean snapped; pulling out his phone to pull up the house number, “I’m a professional.”  Sam raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Of course,” he said, writing down the address as he pulled on his jacket, “You two are gonna stay here and start picking through the library for a spell that sounds like it can make a pair of indestructible handcuffs destructible again.”

“That could mean almost anything!” Dean protested.  Not that he didn’t like digging around in the new digs, but _come on_.

“Well then you’d better get started,” Sam suggested unhelpfully, “You two play nice now.”

And with that, the younger Winchester took off, grabbing the keys to the Impala on his way out.  So much for being helpful. 

“Alright,” Dean sighed, “I’ll man the laptop, you start pulling books.”

Castiel nodded in agreement, moving toward the shelves just as Dean was pulling out a chair to sit down at the computer, already forgetting the metal linking their wrists together.  All Dean felt was a jerk before he was totally bowled over, Cas barely noticing the extra weight with his angelic strength.  As he ran a hand through his hair, his left hand this time, Dean thought ‘It’s gonna be a long night.”

***

“So you’re certain you don’t remember those handcuffs?” Sam asked the owner of the house where Dean and Cas had found their unfortunate accessory, a retiree who had lived in the neighborhood with her husband for the last fifteen years.  Sam had introduced himself as a collector of antique criminal justice memorabilia.

“No, I’m sorry Mr. Page,” the woman said, shaking her head, “We’ve had most of this stuff sitting in the cellar for ages.  I’m afraid we were so eager to clear out the space we didn’t do much inventory.  I certainly would have made an effort to hold onto them if I thought they might have been worth money.”

“Only sentimental value unless you’re a collector, I’m afraid,” Sam lied, pulling out his card, “If you remember anything, could you give me a call?”

A spot of bright color caught his eye as old woman took his card, tucking it into her handbag.  Amidst a pile of dust and garbage someone had swept up Sam could see the bright orange, black and red of several empty candy wrappers.

“Looks like somebody has quite a sweet tooth,” he said, indicating the wrappers that had been swept into the corner, “Snickers were always a favorite of mine as well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” the elderly woman said, “I’m diabetic, and my husband has quite the nut allergy.  We don’t keep much candy in the house.  That must have been left by one of the neighbors today.”

“Of course,” Sam said, mind churning, “Thank you for your help ma’am.”

“No problem young man,” the woman smiled, “You take care now.”

She left Sam in the driveway, eyes still caught on the pile of discarded candy wrappers.  First a practical joke taken way too far, and now this.  It was impossible, but that was just too obvious a clue not to look into.  He returned to the Impala, making a beeline for the men of letters hq, but not before digging through the glove box to find the napkin where they had scribbled down the cliff notes version of how to summon an archangel. 


	4. Sleep through the night

“Dean.”  Dean jerked out of the half doze he had slipped into with a curse.  Beside him, Castiel quietly closed the tome on medieval curses he had been skimming, the thin vellum pages fluttering like the wings of a moth.

“What time is it?” Dean asked, “Where’s Sam?”  Cas let his trapped wrist hang limp as Dean rubbed his eyes, yawning loudly.

“It’s a little after 2 a.m.,” Cas informed him, “You’ve only been out for a minute or two.  Sam called.  He says he’s following a lead and we shouldn’t wait up for him.”

“A lead?  Sam shouldn’t be on his own out the-eh-re-“ Dean had to stop and stifle another huge yawn.  Castiel examined him thoughtfully for a few moments before rising, leading a stumbling Dean down the hallway by their joined wrists.

“Slow down dude!” Dean yanked on the cuffs with little effect, though Cas did wait for him to catch his footing when he cried out.  “Where are we even going?”

“It’s late,” the angel said, “You should sleep.”

“No way,” Dean objected, tugging on the handcuffs firmly, “We’ve gotta go get Sam.” 

“Sam sounded more than capable of handling himself,” Cas said, “However, your body clearly requires rest.”

Dean meant to argue some more, but he was cut off by yet another yawn.  Maybe he did need a few Z’s.  Castiel took his silence as agreement, and steered them both to Dean’s bedroom, where they were faced with a whole new set of logistical problems.  Problem number one: Clothing.

“I’m not even gonna be able to get my coat off with these things on,” Dean griped, indicating the handcuffs.  Cas gave him the ‘I’m about to use my angel powers’ stare, before tugging sharply on Dean’s jacked.  Like a magician on the Strip, one minute the worn leather was hanging on Dean’s shoulders, and the next Cas was hanging it on one of the hooks by Dean’s bookshelf, looking more than a little pleased with himself.

“So you can mojo leather jackets out of these, but not us?” Dean poked at the angel.  Cas was perturbed, but not distressed.

“So it would seem,” the angel agreed, “Someone spelled these handcuffs with remarkable specificity.” Castiel pulled the same trick with his heavy flannel, but Dean stopped his hand when he reached for his grey Henley.

“Whoa there angel,” Dean interrupted, “You can leave the shirt.  I’ll sleep as is.”  Castiel looked at him skeptically.

“Dean, there’s no need for undue modesty on my account.  I did remake your body from the cells up,” Cas reminded him, “There’s not much of you that I haven’t seen.”  While that was probably true, the idea of sleeping in nothing but his boxers handcuffed to Cas was a _little_ more than Dean was ready to handle at this point in his life.  As it was, Dean was already too conscious of the heat of Cas’ skin where he had grabbed him by the wrist, tingling under his palm like he was conducting an electric current.

“I’m good Cas, really,” Dean assured him, releasing his hand before considering obstacle number two: the bed.  They stood before the double, in what Dean was certain would be very humorous matching poses of deep consideration if the whole situation weren’t so damn _awkward_.

“You should lay down, and I’ll stand watch,” Cas offered, in his ‘I’ll watch over you’ voice. 

“Yeah and have my arm hanging above my head all night?” Dean scoffed, “No thanks.”

“Perhaps I could get a chair,” Cas said thoughtfully, “Then we would be on a more similar plane.”

“Let’s just, see what works,” Dean suggested, “Trial and error.”

About fifteen positions later (no, not _those_ kinds of positions), they finally wound up laying side by side on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling in one of the weirder sleeping arrangements of Dean’s life.  In the dark, Dean was particularly aware of the lack of breathing beside him, as Cas lay on the bed perfectly content to do nothing all night as Dean rested.  Castiel was on top of the blankets, still wearing that damn trench coat, only the arm that was cuffed to Dean’s tucked under the comforter. 

“You sure you don’t want a book or something Cas?” Dean asked in the empty darkness, “It won’t bother me if you want to turn a light on.”

“I’m fine as I am Dean, thank you,” Cas’ gravelly voice sounded close by, “You should rest.  I’ll find some topic of thought to pass the time.”

“If you say so,” Dean said.  Already his body felt stiff from laying flat on his back, careful not to bump the body on the mattress next to him.  The urge to roll over was overwhelming, accustomed as he was to tossing and turning, but the handcuffs pretty much guaranteed that would be more trouble than it was worth.  Still, Dean could feel the heat that radiated out from Cas, like a beacon in the dark.  The angel must run a temperature twenty-four seven, he mused as the warmth seeped into the blankets that covered him, soothing his tense muscles.  Dean felt his body relax bit by bit as his exhaustion overtook him, aided by Cas’ calm presence and his higher than average temperature.  He yawned one final time before he began to drift off.

“G’night Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

****

Sam threw the match into the spell bowl, determined not to get his hopes up as he watched the contents burn.  He was just following a suspicion, checking off another monster from the list before moving on to a more complicated solution.  Still, the coincidences at the yard sale had been too much to overlook.  He waited a beat, two, in the cold storage room before a familiar voice from the past spoke up.

“Sam.”  Gabriel stood in the summoning circle, voice appraising.  “You always were the smart Winchester.”

“Gabriel,” Sam gasped, shocked, “I thought you’d be a no show.  How are you even-“

“Alive?” the archangel cut him off. “It’s something of a recent development.”

“But you-and Lucifer-“ Sam sputtered.  Summoning Gabriel had been a whim, a hunch.  He hadn’t even told Dean his plan, not wanting to bring up old ghosts along with everything else they were dealing with.  Yet here he was, their sometimes ally, alive and very much kicking three years later.  

“What?” Gabriel smirked, “You think Castiel is the only angel God ever resurrected?”

“ _God?_ You’ve talked to God?” Sam’s mind was bursting with questions.

“Will you stop thinking so loud? You’re gonna give me a migraine,” Gabriel whined, “And Yes.  It turns out the Old Man thinks I got an unfair shake, and now that it’s _convenient for him-“_ Sam could hear more than a little bitterness in the angel’s voice.”-He’s decided to give me a new lease on life.”

“Why would he wait until now?” Sam asked.  He could still remember Gabriel on the floor of the Elysium motel, massive wings scorched into the linoleum.  What kind of father could stand by and watch that happen?  If Gabriel was in the same line of thinking as Sam, he shrugged it off quickly. 

“It’s not my job to figure it out,” the archangel continued, “As I can see it, it’s a win-win.  I’m alive and awesome, and Daddy-o just wants one little favor in return.”

Here was the catch Sam had been waiting for.  “What does God want that involves locking Dean and Cas in handcuffs and giving Dean hallucinations?”  Gabriel laughed out loud at that one.

“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” he chuckled, “I was worried that I was going too subtle.”

“Too subtle for what?”  Sam was losing patience.  Gabriel was unperturbed.

“It would seem, in his infinite wisdom, that God out of Heaven has decided to play matchmaker,” Gabriel informed him, “And since he can’t directly intervene with free will, he has designated me as his number one cherub.”

“Play matchmaker,” Sam could only repeat dumbly, “For Dean and Cas.  God, the _God_ , wants Dean and Cas to be a couple.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the signs yourself Sammy,” Gabriel said, quirking an eyebrow, “’Cause I’ve been around for about two days, and I’m about to barf from all lovey, star-crossed eyes those two have been making at each other.”

The archangel had him there.  Ever since Cas had returned from Purgatory, he and Dean had been kind of freaky codependent.  There was no talking to Dean about it of course, but Sam would have to be blind not to notice the staring contests, or the seemingly platonic shoulder touches when his brother thought he wouldn’t notice.  It was like the Dean and Cas Sam remembered from when Lucifer was still on the game board, but the volume pumped up to eleven.  Still, since when did God give a damn about them?  Or Gabriel for that matter?

“I thought playing Cupid would be a little below your pay grade,” Sam said, arms crossed over his chest, “And since when do you care about your father’s orders?  What’s really going on here Gabriel?”

Gabriel remained obstinate for a few moments before shrugging his shoulders in exasperation. 

“I missed him, alright?” he snapped, “I missed my Father. I missed being with my family.  Even my brothers, though heaven knows I’ve got few enough of those left.”

Sam cringes as he thinks of Castiel describing how he purged heaven after he defeated Raphael.  What kind of family had Gabriel come back to?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gabriel chided, “And I don’t blame Castiel.  So don’t think this is me on some romantic comedy themed revenge mission.  He took on a job that should have been my Dad’s.  Or mine, for that matter, if I hadn’t so heroically kicked the bucket.  In a strange way, I think this might be God trying to make it up to Castiel for abandoning his post, so to speak.”

“By setting him up with my brother?”  Sam couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his voice.

“You don’t know what it means for me to have my Dad finally interested in something as simple as his kid’s love life,” Gabriel insisted.  Sam’s mind immediately went to John Winchester, blind and deaf to his sons in his search for revenge.  He thought of all the times he saw Dean open his mouth to ask his dad for guidance when it came to women, or when he was confused about his feelings for a man, then shut it just as quickly as John brought up a new case.  Sam thought of many of his nights at Stanford, staring at the number on his phone that he longed to call, wanting to share his feelings about Jess with his father; how excited and hopeful he was, before remembering John’s anger at his departure.

“Yeah actually,” Sam admitted, meeting the archangel’s gold eyes, “I think I do.”

Gabriel held his gaze, and Sam felt the weight of ages behind the casual smirk that held permanent residence on the angel’s face.  He could see part of the comic veneer fading as Gabriel continued. 

“I know the Host isn’t your typical nuclear family,” Gabriel said, “And maybe I don’t know Castiel as well as I could.  But from one brother to another, don’t you just want some happiness for them?  I had my thing with Kali, however brief it was, and for once it’s in the Big Divine Plan for Castiel have the same chance with Dean.”

Sam considered Gabriel’s words carefully, brow furrowed.  What he said was true.  He had never seen his brother fight so hard for, and struggle so much against, anyone in his life.  Maybe Dean was confused about what was going on between him and Cas, but it was fairly obvious to everyone else, God included apparently.  Sam remembered his brother in the days when he had returned from Purgatory without his angel, and the more recent days when they had found him again.  Even the way that Dean carried himself had been like night and day.  And that’s what it was all for, right?  There was always going to be another monster, another tablet, or another ‘goddamned Apocalypse’.  If the last few weeks had given Sam any newfound epiphanies, it was that they needed to take their small moments of joy where they could get them.  Divine will or no, Sam just wanted Dean to be happy.  If the key to that happiness was Castiel, then Sam would accept any heavenly assistance necessary to get those two crazy kids together.

“You swear you’re on the level?” Sam asked Gabriel sternly.  Gabriel grinned, raising a Boy Scout salute and crossing his heart.

“I swear to Dad,” he vowed.  Sam grinned at that as well.

“Alright then,” Sam said, extending a hand to the archangel, “How can I help?”

Gabriel took his hand in a vice-like grip, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t you worry Sammy-boy,” he said, “I’ve got it _all_ planned out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I been tearing through this. I've got almost everything written in sections, and it should be up in the next day or so! Thanks so much for the comments and encouragements!


	5. Dazed and Confused

_The best laid plans of archangels and men…_

Dean woke up slow and easy, which was pretty unusual for him.  Hey, any day he didn’t wake up screaming was probably a good one.  He snuggled in closer to the body next to him, using the arm he had already thrown around their waist to pull them flush against his chest.  A mess of short hair tickled his nose, so he nuzzled into a strong neck instead, chin tucked against a heavy jacket collar worn soft with time and wear.  Breathing in, his senses were flooded with the scent of clean laundry, with a healthy dose of man and just a hint of something spicy and unknown under the surface.  Something in a small corner Dean’s subconscious seemed to waving a red flag urgently, but for the moment Dean elected to ignore it.  For once, Dean felt safe.  A comforting heat seemed to have taken residence in his chest, easing his aches and tension.   Dean smiled, content to doze for another few minutes, before a gravelly voice pulled him kicking and screaming back to reality.

“Hello Dean.”  That was weird.  Cas greeting rumbled through his chest, almost as if… _Shit_.  The little red flag was now a big ass warning siren in his brain as he scrambled away from the angel, who seemed distinctly undisturbed by their apparent all-night cuddle session.  Failing to keep an eye on the edge of the bed, Dean soon found his ass hitting the carpet with a loud thunk as he tumbled off the small double.  Cas sat up, adjusting his coat serenely as Dean rubbed his sore butt, with a hand that he just noticed was blessedly handcuff free. 

“Hey!” he said, “The cuffs are gone!”

“Yes,” the angel agreed, “It would seem the curse depended on a certain time elapsing, rather than a counter spell.  They unlocked of their own volition a little while after you fell asleep.”

“Awesome,” Dean admitted, enjoying use of both wrists to push himself up from the carpet, “But, uh, you didn’t have to stick around all night once the cuffs were off, you know.” 

“By that point we were firmly entwined,” Cas informed him, “It would have been…difficult to extricate myself without disturbing you.”

“Jesus Cas,” Dean exclaimed, “Why didn’t you just wake me up?” He could just picture it, laying all over Cas while the angel just took it, not knowing how to extricate himself from the situation.  He could feel the color rising in his cheeks yet again. 

“I actually found the experience to be quite pleasant,” Cas shrugged with a smile, “I find your presence a calming one, and you slept without any of the disturbing dreams you have described in the past, so it seems to have been beneficial for both of us.  We should do it more often.” 

“We should-what? No! I mean-“ Dean’s mind was a muddle of feelings.  He was still in ‘diffuse the awkward’ mode, which apparently not necessary because Castiel _didn’t_ find their sleeping non-platonically in the same bed awkward at all, which only made it _more_ awkward, because what was Dean supposed to take away from that?  Maybe Dean occasionally slipped into the ‘what if’ daydream, but he didn’t expect the angel to reciprocate.  Cas didn’t, Cas _couldn’t-_ could he?  Cas was standing now, examining him from across the bed, leaving Dean feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“You’re uncomfortable.”  Cas wasn’t asking him a question, but the angel’s brows were knit in confusion.  The soothing warmth in Dean’s belly was long gone, replaced by churning guilt and his own healthy dose of confusion.

“Yeah Cas, I…” Dean didn’t know how to say what he meant.  That hunters and angels don’t cuddle? That these feelings he was having were wrong, not normal?  None of the words sounded right on his tongue.

“In Purgatory, we would often sleep side by side,” Cas continued, “We kept each other safe, ‘watched each other’s backs’, you used to say.  Why is this any different?”  Castiel didn’t move, but Dean still felt a need to raise his hands as if to ward him off.  Cas examined Dean’s defensive position; head tilted in the expression that Dean wished didn’t make the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“I don’t know Cas, I just…” Dean could _not_ deal with this right now. “This isn’t Purgatory, ok?”  The last part of that came out harsher than he meant it to, and Cas took a step back, guarded eyes not able to cover the hurt that Dean could see blossoming there. 

“I see,” was all the angel said, “My apologies.” For a moment their gazes locked, and Dean caught a glimpse of something ancient and pained behind the serene blue.  Then Cas was gone in a rustle of feathers, leaving Dean alone in his bedroom.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, flopping back down onto the mattress.  The handcuffs, still tangled in the sheets, dug into his spine uncomfortably.  Dean fished them out, throwing them across the room with probably more force than necessary.  “Damn it!” he growled again, kneading his eyes with the butt of his hand. Dean didn’t know what to think anymore.  With a huff he sat up, pulling out his cell to text Sam an update, it still being too early to knock on his door.  Sam could come find him when he woke up if he wanted to compare notes.  Dean let his thoughts chase themselves around his head for a few more minutes before he got dressed and headed for the library.  If Dean was gonna start questioning everything he thought he knew about himself, he may as well get some reading done in the meantime.

  ***

Sam found his brother in the library, staring hard at an old grimiore, though his eyes didn’t seem to be moving across the page. 

“Hey,” he said, picking out a book of his own before taking the seat across from Dean.  Dean merely grunted in greeting, not looking up from the words in front of him.  Sam flipped through a few dusty pages before venturing to speak again.

“Cas around?” he asked, hoping to sound casual.  _Just do what you do best Sasquatch,_ Gabriel had told him, _Talk about your feelings._

“How should I know?” Dean snapped, “I’m not the dude’s freakin’ babysitter.”  Of course getting Dean to open up would be about as easy as opening the door to Purgatory, and twice as fun.

“Sure,” Sam acceded, “Just, you know, you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Being handcuffed to a guy can have that effect, Sammy.”  Dean’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion.  He could smell a “chick-flick moment” coming from a mile away.

“The last couple weeks make it seem like you and Cas don’t need the handcuffs to have an excuse to get close,” Sam said.  Way to stay nonchalant Sam.  Dean closed his book with an audible thunk.

“Is there something you want to talk about Sam?” Dean asked.

“Is there something we _need_ to talk about Dean?” Sam shot back. 

“Not if you’d quit sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Dean said, standing to replace his book on the shelf, “What’s going on with me and Cas is-“

“So there _is_ something going on with you and Cas?” Sam guessed, trying to coax his brother into saying it out loud.

“That’s not what I said!” Dean exclaimed, turning around sharply, “Jesus Sam, don’t start playing your head games with me.”

“I’m not playing anything,” Sam defended, “I’m just trying to understand why this guy who literally went to Hell and back with you is suddenly a no-fly zone.  You two have been different since you got back from Purgatory, but now it’s the same old same old.”

 “I don’t know why!” Dean was pacing back and forth in front of the table, fingers massaging his temples, “I don’t know why Cas does anything he does.”

“Why, did Cas do something?” Sam prodded, “Has he said anything to you?”

“Yes-no! I don’t know.  I thought that, maybe, in Purgatory, he might have- _we_ might have-“ Dean couldn’t seem to finish his sentences all of the sudden. 

“Dean,” Sam broke in, “If you thought there was something there with Cas, then why don’t you talk to him about it?  You thought the guy was dead and now he’s not!  Why isn’t this good?”

“Because Sam!” Dean shouted, “It’s one thing to feel something in Purgatory, when it’s panic and fighting day in and day out with no one but your buddy next to you, and it’s another thing to be back in the day-to-day and realize what you were feeling might be real!”

Sam studied Dean thoughtfully for a few moments, trying to figure out why his brother was so eager to hide from what was right in front of him.  Already Dean was tense, clearly having revealed much more than he intended.  It wasn’t right, Dean feeling like a caged animal because he might have feelings for someone.

“What is this really about?” Sam asked gently, “Is it because Cas is an angel?  Or is it because his vessel is male? Because Dean I think-“

“Stop.”  Dean’s voice was quiet and forceful.  “Sam…just stop.  We are _not_ talking about this.  Whatever you think, or don’t think, or _whatever_ , you can keep it to yourself.  I’m done.”

With that Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” Sam called after him. 

“I need a drink,” Was Dean’s only reply.  Sam eyed the full decanter of whiskey on the table next to him as he heard the iron door to the lair slam shut.  A drink.  Right.     


	6. Conflict

Cas was not a guy.  When not in his vessel, Castiel was nothing more than a ‘multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent’, as he had made clear to Dean and Sam many times over the years.  Dean tried to bear this in mind, but when he closed his eyes and pictured the angel, the only image he had was Jimmy Novak’s body, all lithe muscle and five o’clock shadow.  It was not an unattractive picture.  Factoring in their history, the ups and downs, the sacrifices and the loyalty Cas had made and shown for him over the years, the image of Cas was all _too_ attractive.  However, whatever Castiel might say otherwise, to Dean, and to the rest of the people they were likely to run into, the picture was also unmistakably male.  The fact that this information, at least on the chemical level, didn’t seem to bother him was freaking Dean out a little, which was why he was currently sitting in a random bar nursing a scotch instead of eating breakfast with Sam and Cas in his bathrobe.

It wasn’t something Dean had ever explored, this part of himself that was drawn to strong jaws instead of soft curves.  It wasn’t a very dominant part, truth be told.  He’d had a lot of relationships with women, and they hadn’t been based off of intellectual attraction, but Dean would have to be stupid not to notice the tendril of heat that crept up on him when faced with a handsome waiter or a charming cashier.  It was just not something he acted on.  Or talked about.  Ever.  Hell, it wasn’t like his twenty-year-old self could’ve just asked John for advice.  “Hey Dad, I think I might be into dudes too, how should I address with you and Sammy, not to mention the super-conservative and backwater hunter’s circles we run in?” That would have gone over well.  He probably should have figured Sam would be onto him though.  The man was smart, and Dean hadn’t exactly been subtle, especially since Cas had busted out of Purgatory, but it really wasn’t something he was ready to discuss with his brother yet.  It wasn’t really something he was ready to discuss with Cas either, for that matter, but it seemed like something that was going to be pretty unavoidable given the events of that morning.  Dean took another swig of his drink, letting the alcohol burn down his throat.  Christ, what was he thinking?  Cas was an angel of the Lord, and Dean was a human being.  A pretty shitty human being when it came down to it.  Even if he could get the angel to understand, what did Dean have to offer Cas other than more of the same crap they’d been dealing with for the last four years?

“Hey handsome,” a voice sounded from next to him.  Damn, Dean hadn’t even heard the woman approach.  “Wanna buy me a drink?”

“It’s a little early,” Dean joked, not really in the mood, “Don’t you think?”

“Apparently not for you, Dean Winchester.”  Dean looked at the woman just in time to see her eyes turn pitch black before a strong set of arms grabbed him from behind, shoving a rag soaked in chloroform over his mouth and nose.  God damn it.  He should have known better than to let anyone get the jump on him like that.  His last thought before he blacked out was a cry to his angel.  _Cas._  

****

“Sam.”  Sam jumped at the sudden sound of his name in the relative quiety of the library.  Usually Cas’ pop-up greetings were reserved for Dean, so he hadn’t gotten accustomed yet to the angel’s sudden appearances.  Castiel looked troubled, and if Sam didn’t know better, he would say the angel was tired. 

“Hey Cas,” Sam greeted the angel, “Everything ok?”

“Yes,” Cas responded quickly, then, “No.  I am…confused.  I was hoping to find your brother.”

“Dean stepped out,” Sam told him, brows quirking in concern, “Is everything okay with you two?”

Castiel sighed, pulling out a chair to sit next to Sam, resting his head in his hands wearily.

“I had thought, despite my betrayals with Crowley, that our bond had remained strong,” Cas confided in him, “Our journey in Purgatory only seemed to confirm this.”

“You guys have been close for a long time,” Sam agreed, “What’s up? Did something happen, Cas?”

“Nothing I can name,” Cas said, “But Dean seems…on edge around me lately.  I am afraid that perhaps my presence has become a disturbance for him.”

“I’m not sure the problem is _you,_ Cas,” Sam said gently, “I think this might be something Dean has been dealing with for a while now.” Castiel looked at him, head tilted in puzzlement.

“Is it an issue of Dean’s conflicted sexuality?” Cas seemed unselfconscious about his question, although he did blush when Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “I was aware of his struggle, ever since I glimpsed his bared soul in Hell,” the angel admitted, “Though I never interpreted his conflict as it might have applied to myself.”   

“Maybe it’s time that you did,” Sam suggested.  Castiel looked surprised, though Sam could see something that might have been hope sparking behind the angel’s blue eyes.  Cas swallowed nervously, his face growing redder under Sam’s scrutiny.

“I have been uncertain on many occasions as to the nature of our relationship,” Cas admitted, “But I thought that last night…I thought I felt-Dean!”

“Whoa Cas,” Sam cut him off, “TMI dude!”

“No, you don’t understand,” Cas corrected, suddenly in full on smiting mode, “Dean is being attacked.  He’s praying.”  Sam felt his stomach tie into unexpected knots.  Castiel was staring into the distance, as if listening very carefully to a frequency beyond the realm of human hearing.

“Where is he?  Who’s attacking him?”  Could this be another of Gabriel’s antics?  It wasn’t anything they had discussed last night.  He could feel the crackle in the air as Castiel prepared to take flight.

“Demons.”  That was all Sam heard before Cas vanished, the flutter of his wings the only sound left in the library.

“Cas wait!  We need to-“  The words died in his throat as he surveyed the now empty room.  Sam waited, hoping to see the angel reappear with Dean safely in tow, but when the minutes ticked by with no sudden appearances, he decided enough was enough.

“Alright Gabriel, you son of a bitch!” Sam called out, jumping out of his seat, “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.  This is too far and you know it!”  He spun around to come face to face with the archangel, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

“Hey Sam,” Gabriel greeted him testily, “What’s with the name calling?”

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Sam accused, “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not sure what you are referring to,” Gabriel informed him, “Did your talk with big bro not go smoothly?  Where are those lovebirds at anyway?”  He looked around, as if he expected to see Dean and Cas making out against a bookshelf or something.  Sam felt a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

“So the demons attacking Dean are not one of your twisted illusions?”  Gabriel’s eyes grew wide, then narrow with fury.

“Definitely not,” he assured him, “Where’s Castiel?”

“He just disappeared to find Dean,” Sam told him, “This must be something to do with Crowley.  He must have had demon’s out looking for us, hoping to catch us off guard.  What are you doing?”  The last question addressed Gabriel again, who was staring into the air as if reading a very complicated map.

“I’m looking for my brother,” the archangel said, “Dean may be sigiled against me, but Castiel isn’t.  Who’s Crowley?”  Sam forgot Gabriel had never met the snarky demon. 

“Crossroads demon, took over hell when Lucifer got locked down,” Sam filled him in, “He’s a mean son of a gun.  And British.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Gabriel quipped, a predatory grin spreading across his face, “Got him.  Sit tight Sammy, I’ll handle this in a jiffy.”  And for the second time that day, Sam found himself alone in the library with nothing but the sound of fluttering wings.   Hang tough guys, he thought, the cavalry is on its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to come!


	7. Bring it on home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks so much for the kudos and comments.

They were totally screwed.  Dean looked on helplessly at Castiel, who was looking worse for wear inside the circle of holy fire that Crowley had trapped him in.  He didn’t know how Crowley knew to place the circle, but lucky guess or devious spell it had burst into flame the minute the angel had appeared.  Dean kicked his legs uselessly, only managing to jerk his arms uncomfortably in the chains that held him above the floor of Crowley’s ‘interrogation room’. 

“You should save your energy Dean,” Cas chided him, “You will need it for our escape.” 

“Any bright ideas Cas?” Dean asked sarcastically, though he did let his body still.

“No,” the angel admitted, “But it would seem wise to assume that help is on the way, given our track record.”  Fair enough.  Sam _was_ probably on his way to save their asses, provided Crowley didn’t stroll in and kill them both on the spot.  Then again, he’d let them both live this long, so there was probably some ulterior motive waiting to play out.  Dean worked instead on the chains around his wrists, looking for weaknesses, finding none.  Two pairs of cuffs in as many days.  Jesus.  As uncomfortable as he was, Dean was more worried about Cas.  He was pale, and there was a line of sweat on his brow that implied something besides the claustrophobia that comes with being trapped in a small circle.

“You hangin’ in there, angel?” Dean asked, as Cas wiped at his forehead with his sleeve.

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel said without much conviction, “I think Crowley supplemented this circle to weaken me as well as confine.  The sensation is…unpleasant.”  The angel chucked humorlessly.  “Crowley probably thinks of it as just desserts for my treachery last year.”

Dean silently cursed the demon with every unflattering name he could think of.  The sight of Cas so obviously in pain made him see red.  Though, in retrospect, Crowley wasn’t the only one to have hurt Cas in the last few hours.  Hanging limply in his cuffs, Dean drew a deep breath before speaking.

“Cas,” he began, “Look man, in case things don’t work out, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright Dean.” The angel’s eyes were feverish.

“No, it’s not,” Dean continued, “I just-whatever’s going on with us right now, I need you to know that it’s on me.  None of this is your fault. I-“

“Dean,” Cas cut him off, blue eyes seeing through him, “I pulled you out of Hell, and I followed you in Purgatory.  How many dimensions must I accompany you to before you realize that I won’t be pushed away?”  Dean’s answer was cut off by the arrival of the King of Hell himself.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Crowley asked as he burst through the rusted metal doors.

“I’m gonna interrupt you, you son of a bitch!” Dean thrashed uselessly against his bonds once more.

“Eloquent as always Mr. Winchester,” Crowley sighed, “How is that holy fire treating you Castiel?  Comfortable?”

“What do you want with us Crowley?” Cas demanded, voice strong despite his weakened Grace.

“Mostly?  Revenge,” the demon admitted, “I won’t lie to you boys, this has all been a series of fortunate coincidences for me.  I had people scouring the local eateries for you obviously, but to catch Dean Winchester unawares in a bar at ten o’clock in the morning?  Wasn’t exactly on my list of scenarios.”

“Your little minions just got lucky,” Dean spat.

“Oh I know,” Crowley assured him, “But luck or no, I’ve got a Winchester and his angel boyfriend under lock and key.  Now what might dear Sam be willing to trade to guarantee your safety?  Say…a prophet?  Maybe a certain tablet?”

“Sam’s not dumb,” Dean drawled, “He knows better than to deal with demons.”  Well, he knows better _now_ , Dean added as an afterthought.  Crowley shrugged. 

“I’m willing to risk it,” Crowley said, “It’s not like there’s anyone else coming for you.”  As if on cue, an unexpected but familiar voice suddenly sounded through the chamber. 

“Lucy! I’m ho-ome!”  It couldn’t be…but it totally was.  If he hadn’t been dangling by his wrists from the ceiling Dean would have rubbed his eyes to check if he was seeing correctly.  On the other end of Crowley’s torture chamber stood one very alive archangel, complete with his sword and a snarky grin.  Castiel’s face was a mask of shock as he took in the sight of his long lost brother.  The archangel ignored them for the moment, choosing to focus his attention on the King of Hell.

“You must be Crowley,” Gabriel said with a dangerous glint in his eye, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.  Gabriel, archangel of the Lord.”

Crowley paled before the angel, who despite the height of his vessel was currently the most intimidating person in the room.  By far.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the demon stammered. 

“So they keep telling me,” Gabriel agreed.  He cast an eye over to where Castiel and Dean were held captive, a sly wink indicating that he was indeed their rescue squad.  Sam must have really pulled out the stops on this one, Dean thought to himself as Gabriel continued his speech.

“They also tell me that you’ve taken over my brother’s throne since he’s been…hm…indisposed,” the archangel said conversationally, “So I’m certain that if anyone can appreciate a good plan, it’s you, Mr. Crowley.” 

“You could say that,” Crowley ventured cautiously.  Gabriel nodded, twirling one of the demon’s archaic torture devices in his hand like a child’s toy. 

“Based on your lengthy interactions with the Winchesters,” Gabriel continued, “I’m even more certain that you know how frustrating it is when a good plan is ruined because some _moron_ interfered at the last minute.”  Suddenly the knife that Gabriel had been fiddling with was lodged in the wall beside Crowley’s head, the metal cutting through the steel girder like butter with the force of the angel’s throw.  Crowley, who Dean had never seen phased, stood stock still, his eyes like dinner plates. 

“I’ve got all the powers of Hell at my disposal,” Crowley huffed, “You can’t threaten me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gabriel chirped, “Because I see you’re demon army, and I raise you one Judeo-Christian Deity.”

“You can’t mean-“

“I do mean,” the archangel continued, “You, my idiotic friend, are interfering with an _active_ intention of the Divine Will.”

“Since when does _God_ give two shakes about this flannel clad Neanderthal and his trench coat wearing pet?”  Crowley had recovered himself, and was returned to his more comfortable expression of purple faced-rage.  Gabriel shrugged, the casual gesture deceptive below the power that he was currently wearing like his favorite leather jacket.

“His eye is on the sparrow,” Gabriel quipped, before snapping his fingers.  The chains holding Dean in the air promptly vanished, as did the ring of fire holding Castiel.  Dean scrambled off the ground to where Castiel stood swaying, pale and drawn.  Without thinking, his arm snaked around the angel’s waist, taking some of his weight as Castiel rested his forehead against the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“You ok Cas?” Dean asked uncertainly, running a hand along the angel’s damp cheek.  Castiel looked like he was watching a tennis match, his glassy eyes bouncing back and forth between Dean and his brother.

“Dean,” he breathed, “Gabriel…how?”

“I dunno Cas,” Dean said, “But we might not wanna miss this next part.”  Dean nodded at Gabriel to continue, after verifying that Cas was indeed ok, just a little drained.  They watched silently as Gabriel continued to address Crowley, Dean’s arm still firm around Castiel’s middle, the angel’s breath shallow against his neck.  Cas didn’t move away and Dean wasn’t going to ask him to.      

“I like you Crowley,” Gabriel continued, “So I’m gonna give you two options.  One: You make your exit, right now.  I take Dean-o and Cassie back to his moose of a brother, and we all part as unlikely friends.”  

Crowley’s eyes narrowed.  “And what is the second option?”

“Door number two,” Gabriel drawled, his smirk anything but comedic, “I vaporize you, this warehouse, and every demon on the Eastern Seaboard.”

“Even you don’t have that kind of power,” Crowley sneered.  Gabriel just laughed.

“I keep forgetting how _slow_ demons can be,” he chuckled, “I’m the last of the archangels! Lucifer, Michael, Raphael?  All that power, its vested in _me_ now.  But fine!” Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender.  “You wanna call my bluff?  Let’s see who’s emerges from the rubble.”  As he raised his hand to snap his fingers once again, Dean could feel the foundations of the building start to shake.  Crowley’s henchman were collapsing like dominoes, and the King of Hell himself looked like was starting to sweat.  Gabriel was gathering a strange kind of light around his edges, and not for the first time Dean was reminded just how scary the funnyman could be.  He held Cas a little tighter, waiting for the tell-tale snap, when Crowley let out a frustrated growl.

“Fine!” he shouted, “Option 1!  I choose option 1.  Call off the doomsday routine.”  Suddenly the building went still, and Gabriel looked ordinary again.  Crowley gave the archangel a glare that could have cut through steel.

“I’ll get you,” he growled, casting a glance at Dean and Castiel, “ _All_ of you.  Just you wait.”  And with that he promptly vanished.  Gabriel shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Demons, am I right?” he joked, addressing Dean and Cas directly for the first time.  They both just gaped at him for a minute. 

“Gabriel,” Cas finally managed, “You’re alive.”

“That’s right little bro,” Gabriel said, “Looks like you’re not Dad’s only favorite anymore.”

His tone was a joking one, but something wasn’t sitting right with Dean.

“You told Crowley he was interfering with the Divine Will,” Dean said, “What’s going on Gabriel?”  Gabriel raised his hands in another pacifying gesture.

“I’m gonna let Sam explain that one,” Gabriel dodged, “But let’s just say God has finally taken a positive interest in his kids.  At least one of them anyway.”  He looked at Castiel fondly at that, and for a minute Dean could really believe they were brothers.  Cas seemed a little lighter on his feet, maybe just happy to see another angel who wasn’t trying to kill them.

“Thank you Gabriel,” Castiel said, “For your help today.”

“Don’t mention it Cassie,” Gabriel shrugged, blushing a little, “I’m here on Dad’s orders after all.”

“So are you back on the gameboard?” Dean had to ask, “Angels, demons, the whole shebang?”

Gabriel mulled it over before shrugging again.

“We’ll see,” he answered after a minute, “Sometimes you gotta wait for the right cause before you jump in headfirst, know what I mean?”  Dean eyed the angel at his side, face growing warm.

“I think I do,” Dean answered, which got him a knowing wink and an eyebrow waggle from Gabriel.

“Well, uh, thanks Gabe,” he offered, extending a hand.  Gabriel took it with a grip that made the bones in Dean’s hand creak. 

“You and my brother better take care of eachother,” Gabriel warned him before stepping back, “Or I’ll know.”  Dean grinned weakly as Castiel looked between the two of them suspiciously. 

“Until next time,” the archangel said, with a quick salute, “You kids have fun now.”  And with that he snapped his fingers, and a light like the flash of a camera blinded them both.  When the spots cleared from their eyes, Dean saw that they had been returned to his bedroom in the Batcave.  Their clothes had been scrubbed of any demon grime, and Dean could tell the raw skin left by the shackles on his wrists was healed.  Cas was looking better too, his pallor replaced by a healthy glow that sent Dean’s heart racing in his chest.  Archangels, man.  They were good for something after all. 

“I believe that Gabriel is under the impression that we are romantically involved,” Castiel observed, looking to Dean for guidance in this strange development.  Dean, arms still wrapped around Cas, cast his eyes around the room he had come to consider his own.  There were his records, his guns, his books.  There was the staff he had carried through Purgatory looking for Cas, and the bed where just last night he had spent one of the most peaceful nights of his life curled around the very same angel.  Last he looked at the remaining empty wall, with its solitary lamp and empty dresser, waiting to be filled.   

“I think,” Dean admitted, to himself as much as to the angel at his side, “Gabriel might be on to something.”

Castiel smiled.  It was the half-smile that Cas rarely showed; the smile that followed “It’s funnier in Enochian” or accompanied “I’m gonna become a hunter”.  Now it would be the smile that reminded Dean of Castiel pulling his face down the extra inch between them to press their lips together, dry and a little awkward, and so full of promise. 

Dean was so occupied with Castiel’s mouth that he almost didn’t notice the pop of confetti and the colorful streamers that rained down on them out of nowhere.  Castiel did however, and the look of terror that crossed the angel’s face was hilarious once Dean determined that they were not in fact being attacked by demons.  He laughed as he brushed the brightly colored paper off of Cas’ shoulders, letting his hands linger for seconds longer than necessary as the angel scowled.

“Looks like Gabe just gave us his blessing,” Dean chuckled.  Castiel still looked uncertain, but his expression lightened as he reached up to pluck a streamer from Dean’s hair, his fingers tracing the curve of his jaw on the way back down.    

“I suppose,” he sighed, “It would have been too much to ask for a simple locked door to be able to keep out _both_ our brothers.”

“That reminds me,” Dean said, striding to the door and closing it firmly, scrambling with the lock until he heard a satisfying click.  He trusted if Gabriel had bothered with the little confetti display he would have filled Sam in as well.  No need for any unnecessary interruptions.   Dean turned back around to find himself crowded up against the door as Castiel inserted himself quite assertively into Dean’s personal space.  Cas made no move to touch him, but just stared, that same half smile ghosting across the angel’s lips. 

“Dean,” he began, and if Dean didn’t know better, he would say Castiel was _nervous_ , “The room that you and Sam assigned me.  It doesn’t seem to be quite the right fit for my needs.”

“No?” Dean asked, unable to resist reaching out, letting his hands settle on Cas’ biceps, pulling him even closer, “We’ll have to fix that.  Can you think of somewhere you might be more comfortable?”

“Hm,” Castiel mused as their faces brushed, the tip of Dean’s nose just tracing the edge of Castiel’s cheek, “I remember being very comfortable last night.  In here.”

Dean hummed deep in his chest as he let his gaze flicker to the bed that he and Castiel had recently shared.  It was a simple frame, with an unremarkable bedspread.  Dean thought that it would look a lot better with Castiel’s clothing hanging off the headboard.

“You sure?” Dean asked his angel, green eyes boring into blue, “Sometimes the mattress creaks.”

Castiel’s eyes were serious as he surveyed the bed dubiously.  “We will have to test it,” he said, pulling Dean across the room, “Thoroughly.”

Dean laughed, letting himself be guided down onto the mattress, soon finding himself flat on his back and covered in angel.  “Dean,” Castiel informed him, still fully clothed, “There is one activity in particular that I think would be effective in ensuring the integrity of our mattress.  It will be quite intimate.  Are you ready?”

Dean knew he was sporting a shit-eating grin as he pressed his mouth to Cas’ once, twice, before meeting the angel’s eye once more.

“Cas,” Dean said, hands slipping beneath the folds of Castiel’s ample trench coat, “You have no idea.”

***

Sam was pacing in the library when a small note card appeared in a burst of confetti.

_Hey Sammy,_

_Dean and baby bro are safe and sound, though I wouldn’t knock on their door for a few hours, if you catch my drift.  Also, I may have pissed off the current King of Hell, so keep an eye out.  I’m off for a long overdue chat with the Big Man.  I’ll put in a good word for you, Dad knows you need it._

_Stay fresh,_

_Gabriel_

_***_

And lo, I beheld Destiel, and it was awesome.  Nice job, Gabe. 

The Word of the Lord.


End file.
